Reverti
by tallgirl20
Summary: to return. Harry Potter will return to July 31, 1985. Now, he just has to save the world, again. AU, Time travel, drabble length chapters, no pairings, some angst
1. Prologue:  Ritual

AN: Yes, I realize that I am slightly obsessed with time travel fics. I have decided to put this up despite my better judgement because I am going to be very upfront about it. I don't have a massive plot planned out. The chapters will be drabble length (at least I think) and it will be very slowly updated (and sporadically at that). So please be kind with your reviews. Still, I do hope you enjoy this very tentative foray into time travel/dimension travel hp.

no pairing yet, strong themes possible, but T for now...

Disclaimer: *blinking* Me? Own Harry Potter? Are you kidding? I'm too poor! Seriously, I don't own it. So don't sue.

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Revertor Reverti Reversus – to return

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Prologue – Ritual

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He wondered, in those last minutes, if what he was doing was truly worth it. It was a fleeting thought, one that lasted only a second. Moral conflictions didn't bother him anymore. That wasn't to say he didn't have morals; it was more of a code. And it was simple. _Protect my precious people._ And this final ritual was the only way, after ten years of extensive research, he had found to do it.

Neville's determined face looked straight at him. There was no hesitation, no fear, only the faint light of hope. Harry focused on his last remaining friend, memorizing everything about the boy who had stood by him until the very end, unflinching and courageous. "Are you ready?" His voice was horse and scratchy from the poorly healed battle wound he had taken across the throat their last battle.

Neville's faint grin pulled lopsidedly on his face – other scars preventing the boyish grin from forming fully. "Yeah, I've been waiting for this day. You know that, Harry."

Harry grimaced, even as his determination held strong. Neville's eyes sharpened. "You know you're the only one who can finish it. I have to be the one."

Harry's hand ran agitatedly through his hair. _Yeah, I know, Nev. _He sighed and nodded grimly. "You know how wrong this feels to me."

Neville's eyes sparkled for just a brief moment, "Yeah, that crazy code of yours." A rusty chuckle passed through his lips. "I still say Hermione was right. It's just a hero complex."

The empty hole in his chest yawned dark and aching for a moment before he could remember her the way she would have wanted, not as the cursed, dying woman she had been for that last year. "She was always smarter than me, Nev." His voice thicker. He shrugged, shaking the emotion away causally as he had learned to do out of necessity, "Maybe you're both right."

Neville shook his head, scraggly hair puffing from the movement. He took a steadying breath. "You're all ready, then."

The numbed hole pulsed with pain again, sharp and cold, for a moment. "Yeah, the ritual's ready?"

Neville nodded somberly as he pulled the highly enchanted knife from his pack. His grip was steady even as he held it to his neck. He locked his eyes with Harry's anguished ones. A genuinely fond smile curved up his cheek. He would miss Harry, but he had yearned for this moment from the second after he had found Luna's desiccated body. His eyes blazed. "Then make it worth it, Harry. Make this last chance count."

Visibly, Harry gathered himself, forcing everything back. He would make Neville's sacrifice matter. He would go back, and he would _win._ He would save them all if he could. "I will." His raspy voice steady and determined.

The air shimmered around them as the ritual began.

"Willingly, this sacrifice, I give." Power swirled around the ancient and long forgotten ruins carved perfectly around their circle. Hotly, it pulsed and grew and raged around the two.

A timelessly moment froze the two as they locked determined eyes for the last time.

Harry's eyes never left Neville's face. "So mote it be."

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Prologue is done. I have chapter one finished as well. It will be up shortly. Hope you enjoy.

tg


	2. Rename

A/N: Here is chapter one. I know that there will be questions raised at the end of this chapter. I will try to answer them at the bottom.

Disclaimer: I have never claimed to own Harry Potter. I do own a fantastic pink shaded floor lamp of which I am particularly fond.

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1 - Rename

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Harry came back into awareness rather abruptly. He didn't open his eyes though. Too many years of war had drilled certain survival instincts into his body, permanently.

Hermione had contemplated until her hair frizzed up in agitated puffs what the final destination of the ritual would be. They knew it would take Harry into the past. Specifically to the date: July 31, 1985. Of that much, Hermione had been completely certain. What she didn't know, what she couldn't control, was exactly _where _he would appear.

For instance, he could appear inside his five year old body after having taken control away from his younger-self. Hermione had been skeptical about the same 'soul' having _whole_ parts in one time (horcruxes did not count because the soul was split). Harry, not having really understood much of Hermione's argument had just added it to the list and moved past her very detailed explanation regarding the _There-cannot-be-two- whole-identical-souls-at-one-time-there-just-can't_ rant. He understood enough.

That whole _there-cannot-be-two-whole-identical-souls-at-one-time-there-just-can't _rant had also brought her to another completely different tangent about whether Harry's _no-offence-meant-please-don't-take-this-the-wrong-way _war weary soul even _could_ be considered the same as his relatively malleable, younger, and _much-more-innocent-you-see_ soul. Leaving the possibility that Harry-Potter-the-War-Weary-Soul and Harry-Potter-the-Five-Year-Old _could-possibly_ exist at the same time. Meaning, he, Harry-Potter-the-War-Weary-Soul , would be in his previously war weary body while Harry-Potter-the-Five-Year-Old also had his own separate five year-old body.

Of course, this also brought to life the possibility that Harry might not even go back into _their own time._ The _you-do-realize-other-realities-could-possibly-exist-and-you-could-be-brought-into-them_ rant had been even more... prolonged. Having a similar vein to the previous _there-cannot-be-two-identical-souls-at-one-time _rant, questions were as follows: Would Harry-Potter-the-Five-Year-Old-From-an-Alternate-Dimension have the same soul as he, Harry-Potter-the-War-Weary-Soul, would? Could they possibly exist at the same time? And the _oh-Harry-what-if-the-new-reality-is-completely-different-than-ours? _rant had been extensively fretted about as well.

This didn't even bring into account _where_ in this alternate/past world(s), bodies, and _possible_ souls would end up _on Earth._ He could find himself in Antarctica for all Hermione could tell (which led to much bottom lip biting, you know).

Before Hermione could find the answers to her frazzled magical theories, she had been hit in the back by that damned curse. She hadn't worried too much about the _where_ question after that. Instead, she focused all of her time on completing the ritual so that at least they would know exactly _when_ the user (_oh-Harry-we-all-know-it-simply-must-be-you-so-quit-being-so-obstanent-about-this_) would appear.

Therefore, Harry did know with certainty that he was at July 31, 1985. Now, he just had to figure out _where_ he was. The smell of absolutely nothing, save a touch of clinical cleanliness (one he had learned to identify long before the war had begun in full swing, thanks to Madame Pomfrey), told him he was in a wizard hospital (muggle ones smelled heavily of disinfectants). He had hoped to avoid landing in a hospital, especially a wizarding one, but Hermione had cautioned that the magical backlash of using the ritual could (_possibly-probably-oh-do-be-careful!) _be severe. He resisted the urge to sigh at Hermione being right again.

He wondered when it would hit him that he was really in the past. A fuss coming from beyond his door drew him from his contemplation, and Harry decided being 'asleep' for a while longer would be a good thing. He did try moving his fingers, in case he needed to leave quickly. He was not above escaping from St. Mugo's if he needed to.

"…Well, I have seen cases such as this before, need I remind you. Professor, there is _no reason_ for you to see the young man. He is in a magically induced coma. Even you know that such things must be ended on their own terms." The women's stern voice was even, even scolding, against who Harry suspected was a noisy Albus Dumbledore. The mere fact that Dumbledore was interested in him told Harry that the backlash had been large enough to catch attention he didn't need or want.

"My dear Healer, I'm sure that the boy-"

"Man, Professor, he is well beyond the age of maturity." The matron's voice chastised.

An amused grin flitted Harry's lips upwards as Dumbledore continued, "Man, I do apologize, Healer, is allowed visitors?" Dumbledore's voice lifted up at the end in a pleasant tone he generally used when he knew something you hadn't thought of. This situation was rapidly disintegrating. Seeing that Harry's arms worked properly, he felt strong, and he didn't know what hour of the day it was(or more importantly if it was vising time), He decided it was best to try and get up.

"Of course he is Professor, but you like everyone else must wait until visiting hours are opened which they are _not_ at eighty thirty in the evening." Harry could almost imagine her looking down her nose at the old man possibly with hands on her hips. He choked back a laugh. He liked his healer; she had balls. "Don't think you fool me, Professor, I was not that many classes behind you, if you remember."

"Yes, yes, I do remember you as a first year. My, we were all so young then." Dumbledore's voice was wistful, lackadaisical almost. Harry remembered it well.

"Well," the healer's voice was crisp, "we are not now and if you think your ways will work on me, you have thought wrong! That young man is under my care; and until visiting hours are open, he will have _no visitors_. And even then, those visitors are allowed only at my discretion." Harry thought she sounded extremely satisfied at the fact too.

As he swung his feet around and gingerly tested his weight, he thought he heard Dumbledore exhale in defeat. The walls in St. Mugo's were thin, after all. "I understand, Madame Healer, I will see you in the morning."

"No earlier than 9:30, Professor." She warned.

The old man chuckled. "As you say, Madame."

A few minutes later, there was a huff and his door swung wide open.

The grey haired healer with her wand firmly in hand stopped cold and blinked once before continuing as if seeing her previous comatose patient awake (and sitting up) was not surprising at all, "Well, I did not expect you to awake so soon. Do you know your name, young man?"

Harry smiled. "Of course, Madame Healer, do you know where my wand is?" He asked genially, it was a shame his voice was too gravelly to fully pull off the innocent tone.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched. "If you think you are in any shape to leave, you are sorely mistaken! You have just awoken from a magically induced coma, I have no idea what you were up too but you nearly died." Her sharp eyes told him she didn't just mean from the ritual backlash. She was shrewd, he'd give her that.

"Did you find a wand at all?" He asked; her evasiveness was not missed.

She waved his question off even as she waved her own wand over him in complicated diagnostic patterns. "Of course, you're wand is safe." Her slate grey eyes locked with his. "And under heavy charms so that you cannot retrieve it until I deem you fit." Harry sighed. This was more trouble than he had anticipated. "Now sit back on your bed; you need not be so active just yet."

As Harry did as she demanded as he knew better than to argue, he contemplated her protectiveness and gambled. "I do not wish to have any visitors."

Her eyes slid away from the analysis she had been studying. One eyebrow rose in a perfect curve. "Oh? And I wish to have my patient's name."

He grimaced. Making up too many stories early would not be good. Having a solid name for Dumbledore to focus on would make disappearing harder as well. His healer sighed. "You are in no trouble from me, child." His lips twitched at _child. _When was the last time someone had called him that? "I do not betray my patients."

He trusted her somehow. Despite not having ever met the woman before, her stern disapproval of Dumbledore's meddling even before Harry had woken up softened him to her. After all, he might need an ally – especially in the hospital. With his luck, he would be visiting here more often than not.

With that thought in mind (not to mention Hermione's _do-try-not-to-antagonize-everyone-you-meet-Harry-at-the-very-least-don't-be-rude_ rant playing in his mind), Harry sighed and allowed the compromise. "Alphard, but you can just call be Al." It was a name Harry had picked out. One even Hermione had given a soft smile too. One he knew he wouldn't forget because Alphard had been blasted off the Black tree for helping Sirius when he ran away. Since he didn't want to use a name that had any connection to _his_ past such as Sirius, James, or even Evan(s), he thought Alphard was subtle and easy enough for him to remember.

His healer's lips curled upwards in an amused, if almost affectionate look. It puzzled Harry until she spoke. "I am Lysandra Yaxley, Head Healer of the Unknown Patient Ward, but perhaps you know me better as Lysandra Black, hm?"

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Ending Notes:

Lysandra Yaxley married Arcturus Black and was on the Black family tree. As there are no given dates for her birth I have made her six years younger than Albus Dumbledore. As for whether she died in cannon (as no other Blacks are said to be living) I will just let you hang/contemplate that for a while. Let it be known that I am aware of such contemplations. Thank you.

tg


	3. Review

AN: Here is the next chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. Sorry to break you hearts, but I'm not J. K. Rowling. I know you all thought I was... *snort*

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2 – Review

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Lysandra Yaxley was not your average 93 year old. On the contrary, her mind was just as nimble as it had been the many years ago when she had been considered young. She took great pride in the knowledge that she had not become a decrepit mindless thing that needed to be spoon fed by a patronizing nurse. Those who tried to force their way into her Ward learned those truths rather quickly. No one messed with Lysandra Yaxley, not even the famed Dumbledore, though he often tried. She may have been a respectable Ravenclaw in her day, but the coy Sorting Hat only placed her there because she refused Slytherin, quite curtly if she did say so herself.

Lysandra believed it was this careful mixing of Slytherin and Ravenclaw within her that had first sparked her interest in Unknown 754-128. Her sharp, analytical mind had begun listing the odd and unusual circumstances surrounding the young man only moments after he had been rushed to her trauma unit.

1) He was completely and utterly drained of all magic even as residue clung to his body like a film. Quite honestly, she had been slightly impressed he was not dead from the shock of it all. As the nurses had rushed him past her, Lysandra discovered Unknown 754-128 had been found at the epicenter of such a large magical backlash, the aurors following the nurses confided, that several of their delicate instruments had been broken as the surge hit their headquarters. Considering that epicenter was over 200 miles away from the ministry building, Lysandra found herself not quite as surprised at Unknown's magical state as she had been moments before.

2) His physical body was, if possible, in worse shape than his magic. He had been hit by so many dark curses that any diagnostic charm set to show them overloaded. Lysandra's lips had thinned at that revelation. Only twice had she seen such a reaction to revealing spells. Both patients had died. Unknown had over a dozen permanent scars that had been caused by exposure to dark curses and even more formed by poorly healed physical wounds. By examining each scar individually, she had determined that some these scars predated the magical backlash by more than ten years and others by only months. Despite all those injuries, the one that threatened Lysandra's well-known professionalism was the thin, precise, white _I must not tell lies _carved into his right hand that only weeks of exposure to a blood quill could form. Further diagnostics revealed that scar was over ten years old. He had been underage when he was tortured.

3) He was a Metamorphmagus. Precisely two hours and forty three minutes after Unknown 754-128 had entered her ward, Lysandra, who had taken over the arduous task of replenishing the boy's magical reserves, watched his nose elongate. She stopped her spell work immediately, concerned that he has having a previously undocumented reaction to the potions and/or spells she had been healing him with or worse that this was a result of the backlash that had brought him to her ward. After extensive probing and analyzing, Lysandra found no evidence that the changes (yes, as she had probed and analyzed, his jet-black, lanky hair had grown thicker, longer, _and_ turned an unremarkable dirty blond; the curse marks and other scars – save the odd shaped one hidden beneath his bangs - had seemed to shrink and disappear) in the body's body were from outside interference. That left only one conclusion; the changes were from an internal source. Unbelievable as it might seem, the boy's complete body structure had _morphed_ as his magical core grew larger. The only internal source known to cause such dramatic physical changes was the Metamorphmagus ability.

Despite how exceedingly rare such an ability was, Lysandra had studied it extensively. The Black family had been known to produce Metamorphmagi more often than other pureblooded lines; and as she had married one, she had wanted to be well informed on the subject. Any child of hers that showed signs of having the remarkable ability would have been trained early on to embrace and use such a valuable gift. So while none of her children had been marked as Metamorphmagi, she was extremely well read on the topic. Still, in all her readings, she had never known of a Metamorphmagus who could undergo a transformation while in a magically induced _coma. _Changes within sleep, though rare and usually with untrained children during nightmares, did happen on occasions. Having a morph occur while the mind was completely shut off, though, was supposedly impossible. Lysandra knew it obviously was _not_ impossible as Unknown 754-128 had done it in front of her, but she had no explanation as to exactly _how_ he had done such a thing.

4) The wand found burned into the right palm Unknown 754-128 was volatile, _exceedingly _volatile. St. Mugo's resident wand weigher had accosted her the moment she had left her patient's room demanding to know who the wand belonged to. When she had frowned and likewise demanded to know why it was any of his business, the old man had informed her that the wand core and wood were _never_ to be placed within the same wand. That quite frankly, he had recommended it be destroyed immediately. The combination of core and wood, while exceedingly powerful (and supposedly excellent for dueling), could never be tamed by a wizard. "_There are multiple cases where similar wands made by _exceedingly_ foolish and arrogant wand makers, who believed _they_ could create the one wand which the combination would work, had destroyed their user the moment it was used. Like for example, Bram the Noble Fool who back in 1329… _

Blackthorn, 12'', unyielding, and hair from a Unicorn fawn. Blackthorn and Unicorn hair: the most volatile combination known to wand makers. The wand weigher had refused to even touch the wand once he had determined what it was made of. Currently, it sat under some of the most complicated wards Lysandra knew. Her patient would not be going near that wand before she felt he was ready.

5) His name was Alphard (no last name given). Lysandra's lips had almost, _almost,_ pulled up into a smirk at the name he had chosen to give. If the boy thought Lysandra would not understand the significance of his name, the child was utterly mistaken. She knew of only one Alphard within the wizarding world, and she prided herself on knowing who was who. Alphard Black had been well known for taken pleasure from women. The fact that he hadn't cared what their blood status was (pureblood, squib, half-blood, muggle born, or even _muggle_) had placed him out of favor with the dark aligned Black family. That he had helped the run-away Sirius Black to escape got him blasted off the family tree. Rather unsurprisingly, Alphard didn't live long after that incident. It wouldn't have surprised her if a bastard child of Alphard finally did appear. The boy had black hair, thin frame, and the abilities of a Metamorphmagus – three rather damning pieces of evidence. The fact that he had _not _provided a last name hurt his hope to be anonymous even more. Still, there was a chance that Unknown 754-128 wasn't a Black. Lysandra highly doubted it.

Now, nearing midnight, she sat at home contemplating exactly how she would approach her victim –no _patient _– in the morning. She knew his types very well, as she had healed many an auror in her time at St. Mugo's. Her experience told her that even if she tried to explain exactly how dangerous a magical coma could be, Alphard would not listen to a word. The moment her back was turned, he would sneak out her door, and she would likely never see him again. Lysandra might have to hex him to the bed to get him to stay put, and she would do it too. She needed to observe him for two days at least to make sure his magic suffered no lasting effects. She just hoped she could keep him one. Though, her lips lifted a rather pleased smirk, Alphard wouldn't be going anywhere as long as she had his wand.

A moment later, alarms sounded shrilly from her office. She rushed into the room, checking over all her monitors. _There! _Wards had been breached in her office in St. Mugo's. Her eyes narrowed in distaste. She twirled around, her hand grabbing floo powder and tossing it into the flames.

"_St. Mugo's Unknown Patient Ward, Heal Healer's office."_

A moment later, Lysandra appeared at St. Mugo's with her wand already out. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, seeing no intruders. But a more thorough search showed that the heavy wards she had erected on the bottom drawer of her desk had been obliterated. Her lips pressed into a firm line. She opened the drawer with her wand and looked inside. _Empty._

Her eyes flicked up, and she walked purposely from her office to her Ward. None of the nurses on night duty dared to get in her way as she stalked to her ward, annoyance poring off of her. She flicked the doors of her ward open, and her eyes flitted immediately to an empty bed.

Unknown 754-128, now identified as Alphard, _you can just call me Al, _(no last name), was missing.

Lysandra's lips twitched before she let out a rather frightening and undignified cackle. Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

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Blackthorn has symbolized the darker parts of magic in most of the myths that I could find. Contrasted with the unicorn fowl (still golden) a symbol of purity and innocence, I thought the wand would suitably become the most volitile wand combination in history. As the core and wood represented the complete opposite of each other. I'll let Harry explain why he doesn't have the brother of Voldermort's wand later, just be aware that I do know you probably wonder what happened to it.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Reviews are always nice.

tg


	4. Reclaim

AN: Yeah, it had been awhile. Excuses aside. I had over 2/3s of this chapter finished for over two months. I have finally finished it, so I can upload the next three chapters today. After that, it might be another month or so before I come back. I've got The Paths We Take to work on. Frankly, this following is much much smaller than the other story and while this is just for fun, that once is a little bit more on my heart. Anyway, hope you enjoy the next couple of chapters. I liked them.

Time traveled Harry will be known as Alphard or Al from now on. Five year old Harry will be known just as Harry. Hope that is clear. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I am not the writer/creator of the Harry Potter Universe. If I was, I would be English, rich and not 20. So, well, I guess that's three strikes and I'm out.

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3 – Reclaim

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When Alphard opened his eyes again, it was dark in the Unknown Patient Ward. Or, at least as dark as it ever gets to be in a Ward. The soft, tiny, glowing bubbles were a nice change from harsh florescent lights in muggle hospitals, though, he'd give them that. He grumbled lightly about damned healers slipping him Dreamless Sleep Potions, but it was a mild protest at best. He knew he needed rest, even if it was grudgingly (very grudgingly) admitted.

Absently, he wondered just how many ceiling tiles there were in this particular Ward (there were 473 in the Hospital Wing in Hogwarts, just for reference). He shot the ceiling a contemptuous glare as he found himself counting reflexively. He hoped he never got a chance to count them all. He shook the odd train of thought away simultaneously trying to clear the lingering cobwebs Dreamless Sleep gave him. It took a few minutes to feel really normal (at least for him) again.

After thoroughly checking his ward/hall, he realized there were no other Unknown Patients tonight. He frowned. _Well, that isn't obvious._ He snorted. After all, you weren't paranoid if people really were out to get you. Constant Vigilance and all.

A slight ripple later and the dirty-blond patient was replaced with a rather reedy, platinum blond teenager – complete with _I'm-so-much-better-than-you-because-my-family-imbreeds-so-there! _sneer. Ah, memories. It was so amusing to have such a wealth of 'people' at his disposable. He only hoped it caused the prestigious family some small problems (like say gossiping medi-witches, who just happen to talk to a _possible-but-you-didn't-hear-it-from-me _Malfoy bastard) in addition to helping him escape from St. Mugo's. He took a deep breath as a pleasant smile played on his mouth. He had come to appreciate irony over the years (how could he not?), to an unhealthy extent if Hermione was to be believed. Luna, well, Luna probably wasn't the best influence as far as that subject went. It was best to just leave that at that.

Stepping out of the Ward had been fairly easy. There was a regular lock on the door that didn't open to his initial twists, probably because of the rather high grade locking charm (usually for the safety of the patients; though, Alphard suspected the high grade was a special bonus for _his 's_afety'). However, years of Gred and Forge tutoring with a focus in MLPD (Muggle Lock Picking for Dummies) had paid rather high dividends. The lock clicked open without a fuss after only a few seconds and a misplaced hair pin from the corner of the ward.

Waiting for the meandering healers and medi-witches to wander past the ward had taken longer than opening the door, but after what he suspected was fifteen minutes, the area seemed moderately clear. His first action would be to _borrow_ a wand. He certainly couldn't break the wards/charms/potential hexes guarding his wand without one. He suspected MLPD wouldn't work against Head Healer Lysandra, and he wasn't willing to risk it.

Rounding a couple of corners brought him face to face with a very tired looking woman with a bright blue button flashing INTERN! every few seconds. He staggered a bit, swaying into her and bringing her attention away from the charts. Instead, they focused on him. Somehow, his arm made it around her shoulders and a smirk played across his face.

INTERN! frowned heavily. "Are you lost?" Alphard-in-Disguise leaned on her a bit more. INTERN! scowled. "Visiting hours are over." She stated crispy. "If you are not a patient I will have to ask you to leave."

"Oh I'm supposed to be here alright." His raspy voice replied with a bit of rye amusement. INTERN! did not seem to find it quite so funny.

"Then allow me to escort you back to your room." She bit out as she tried to wiggle away from him. "Do you know your room number?"

"I'll give you mine if you give me yours."

"Your name." She demanded in a no nonsense tone that he thought only McGonagall had mastered. Finally, she forced his encroaching arm away from her shoulders. As she moved away, his palm got a good feel of her pert rear.

Her eyes lit with righteous fury. Alphard-in-Disguise smirked a little more and winked. "Malfoy, Abraxas Malfoy Jr. and don't your forget it." His raspy voice adding to the undertone.

"Oh, trust me, Mr. Malfoy. I'll make sure I give your name to security! You-you cad!" She huffed down the nearly empty corridor with a determined stride.

Alphard swirled around moving back the way he came; his work there was done - and rather satisfying as well. As he turned the corner, Abraxas Malfoy Jr. _(the-total-cad-and-an-illegatement-son-of-Abraxas-Malfoy-like-that's-any-surprise!) _strangely disappeared and a rather nondescript red head took his place twirling a wand he hadn't had a second ago. The world tilted a bit causing Alphard to lean against the convenient wall to his right. It took a few moments of deep breathing and focusing before his vision settled back. He nearly grimaced. It seemed he had pushed himself, again. _Damn, I cannot afford to stay here any longer. _

Frustrated but determined, he walked quickly back to the Head Healer of the UPW's office (which he had passed while trying to find a wand to borrow. He raised the wand to place a mild notice-me-not charm on his person, grimacing at the wand's lackluster performance. Not that he was really surprised, he found that every wand seemed to hate him now. It seemed that the only wand that worked properly for him now was his unicorn and blackthorn wand (he suspected his phoenix would as well, but it wasn't really an option at the moment).

Wands he found were much more sentient than the average person believed them to be. Most of the wizarding world accepted that the wand chose the wizard, but none really associated that choosing with intelligence. Alphard, well, Alphard really hadn't either until his phoenix wand refused to fight its brother. He heard its feeling/thought/undertone more clearly after that, in the back of his mind. Not really clear words, mind, but opinions that clearly weren't his (though sometimes they did agree). It took him awhile to finally figure out exactly what this other voice in his mind (not Voldermort, he knew what that bastard felt like) was. He was a pretty amazing feeling when he finally consciously acknowledged the bond between them. Hermione claimed his power had greatly improved afterwards, but Alphard knew it was just his efficiency. He just worked better with his wand.

His unicorn and blackthorn wand seemed extremely territorial. Alphard had a lingering feeling that the badass wand had 'marked' him in some way that made him undesirable to other wands. He really wouldn't put it past the two pieces. And he wouldn't call them on it either. He wanted at least one wand to work for him.

After examining the Head Healer's door just because he wouldn't put it past the former Black to ward her door, Alphard nearly raised his eyebrow in disbelief. Blood wards did seem a bit like overkill, as well as pushing the bounds of 'acceptable.' Well, maybe not. Constant Vigilance and all. Still, Alphard was very glad he was so paranoid; he definitely didn't want to have activated those wards. So, it was with a very grumpy wand that Alphard breached the delicate spider like blood wards protecting the office. He even managed to skate around the detection ward keeping it from activating, though that was definitely by luck alone.

With a quick sweep of the deserted hallway, he slipped into her office. A through search later, he had found his wand - surrounded by more wards, hexes, and charms than even Voldermort placed on his Horcruxes, though of a decidedly lighter nature. And that was saying something. He looked skeptically at his pilfered wand. There was no way he could breech these wards without Lysandra Yaxley finding out, especially with the grumpy wand. So with a resigned sigh, he poured every ounce of his considerable magic at the guarded desk drawer. Two seconds later, the multicolored spells snapped, and Alphard had his wand. Not surprisingly, the finicky wand was both elated to be with him again and affronted had 'cheating' on them with another wand.

Minutes later (after another troublesome inversion of gravity and tossing the _other_ wand), a red haired man walked out of a very frazzled St. Mugo's just before the magical hospital was locked down due to a breach of Head Healer Lysandra-cross-me-and-you-die Yaxley's office. Everyone thought whoever had been stupid enough to cross her had to be touched in the head – severely.


	5. Reaffirm

AN: I have uploaded more than one chapter today. If you have not read 3 - Reclaim, please go back and read that chapter first. It isn't completely necessary to understand this chapter, but you might find it entertaining anyway. Hope you enjoy.

Harry from the future will be called Alphard or Al while five year old Harry will just be called Harry.

Disclaimer: *sigh* really, people. I do not own Harry Potter's world, themes, or characters. If you think I do, please seek medical help soon. Know you are in my prayers.

* * *

4 – Reaffirm

* * *

Privet Drive was exactly how he remembered it from his childhood. Perfect little houses exactly like their neighbors with immaculate, vibrant green lawns despite the oppressive heat of summer. It made him sick.

Leaning against Number 3's outer wall, partially hidden in the shadows of the afternoon sun, Alphard watched a timid little child with messy black hair exit the front door of Number 6. Alphard frowned. What was Harry doing at Number 6?

"You had better be back by supper!" A shrill voice harped from the doorway, frowning nastily at the little child. Both Alphard and the little Harry flinched. Merlin, Alphard remembered that voice, and it still sent shivers down his spine. His teeth barred for a moment before the woman sniffed and slammed the door shut. Alphard's fingers clinched around his recently reacquired wand, forcibly shoving childhood memories away. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he heard his unicorn core cry out against the child's unwarranted pain, felt his dark blackthorn wood demand revenge against number 6. He embraced the feelings, agreeing with both. He wanted nothing more than to hex the bitch to hell for what she already had and would soon do. Necessity stayed his hand. Little, innocent Harry had to stay here just a little longer. Soon, though, soon he would rescue the child.

Alphard had promised himself before the ritual not to take Harry away until he had killed Voldermort for good. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, unfortunately, was a bigger threat to the child than the abusive Dursleys. Considering Lysandra Black nee Yaxley was still alive and the Dursleys appeared to live in Number 6 instead of Number 4, Alphard was uncertain how long it would take him to track the Horcruxes. They may be in different hiding places. He grimaced. That was not a happy thought. So far it looked like Hermione was right about Alternate Universes. _Perfect, just perfect. _Really, Alphard wondered why he was even surprised. The muggle's Murphy's Law seemed to stick to him rather hard.

Abruptly, Alphard's vision tunneled, his sense of balance twisted and gravity reversed itself. Grimacing, he leaned a bit more on the wall. That was the third time since he had escaped the hospital. Damn, he needed more healing which he really couldn't afford. Hermione's _Harry!-your-of-no-use-to-any-one-if-you-get-yourself-killed-you-need-to-see-a-healer-(before-you-bleed-to-death!)- (before-you-pass-out!)- (before-you-ect.) _rant drifted forward from his memory. He sighed and pushed it back after promising to do something about that soon.

His dull amber eyes finally refocused on the little child shuffling along the street, Harry's shoulders were slumped, and his hair seemed particularly messy. One side of Alphard's lips twitched up. Well, at least some things never changed.

The child was almost to the end of the street (probably heading to the park not too far away) when several bigger boys came around the corner. Harry stilled. Alphard nearly snarled. His feet were moving before he even realized it. He would not allow Harry to be bullied while he was around even if he couldn't get the child to permanent safety.

He forcibly slowed his pace, walking as casually as possible towards the intersection where the bigger boys had circled his younger self. He could hear the jeering and taunting already. He forced himself through Occlumancy. _The Fat apes never could be subtle,_ he seethed. As Alphard got closer, one of the boys finally noticed him. He elbowed the boy next to him whispering (in a loud distinctive voice):

"Oi, there's som'one commin'!"

Immediately, all of the boy's heads snapped towards Alphard. He resisted the almost overwhelming desire to roll his eyes. He settled for a sneer instead watching in vindictive glee as the bullies (including several he could recall by name) shuffled their feet and retreated quickly. He snorted. _Cowards_.

He kept up his smooth pace (albeit it was a little less hurried now) until he stopped at the corner beside Harry. He watched from the corner of his eye as round green eyes flit up to him in uninhibited relief from behind already tapped glasses. Alphard's throat tightened. Merlin, this was hard, harder than he had thought it would be. The overwhelmingly not manly urge to cry and hug the little child was extremely hard to push behind Occlumancy walls. He hadn't expected to actually meet Harry yet. So, naturally, he hadn't exactly prepared himself for this, but he couldn't watch the child being bullied either. It was against his Code. If there was one thing Harry still stuck with, it was his Code.

The little child fisted his hands on the grey oversized shirt he wore before mastering himself and looking up quickly. "Uhmm…" his voice was a small whisper. A few heart beats passed in tense, expectant silence. "Thanks." Harry's voice was still strained as if not used to getting help from strangers (which Alphard knew intimately was the case). Still, Harry's courage ached inside of him. It shouldn't have been like this. No child deserved it.

It took a few more seconds for Alphard to find his voice. He didn't think the raspy tone was very conducive to calming children, but it was all he had. "Hey, kid," he said, finally looking down at his younger self.

Green eyes blinked at him. Alphard managed a hesitant, rusty smile. "Where you headed?"

Harry dropped his head, his courage almost gone. He hoped Aunt wouldn't be mad that he had talked to a stranger. Even if that nice stranger had made Dudders go away. Oh! But he'd get in trouble for talking to strangers if Dudders saw. But, but, this stranger wasn't mean! Harry fretted for a couple of seconds before managing to decide. "Park." He said to the ground.

"Me too." The stranger replied. Harry looked up in surprise. There was a much larger hand near his eyes palm open and waiting. Harry's eyes crossed trying to see it. The stranger chuckled and wiggled his fingers. "Can we walk together?" The man asked. Harry noticed the man's raspy voice was hesitant and nervous (though how he could tell, Harry didn't know. But that quality comforted Harry all the same). It gave him his courage back.

After a quick look around just to be sure Dudders was gone, Harry deemed it safe. With a more determined air about him, the little messy haired child slipped his hand into the outstretched, much larger one. "Kay."

Alphard was sure he had never felt relief as great in his life as he squeezed Harry's hand lightly, and the two rambled their way to the park in near silence. The connection made the dark hole in Alphard's heart pulse and ache faintly, reminding him of what he had gone through, but he couldn't deny that he needed this moment. He needed to see this innocent little child (someone whom he could really never remember being). He needed the concrete reminder of exactly why he was here. He vowed again that this Harry would not go through the Hell he had. Voldermort would die very soon.

_I promise._


	6. Reassess

AN: I have uploaded multiple chapters today. If you have not read 3 - Reclaim and 4 - Reaffirm, please go back and do so. Enjoy.

Harry from the future will now be called Alphard or Al while five year old will just be Harry.

* * *

5 - Reassess

* * *

Lysandra was doing paperwork in her office when someone knocked politely on her door. She glanced up briefly at the foe glass near the entrance. Noting the form was hazy, but slightly clearer than others, she gripped her wand more securely before opening the door. The man stood lazily against the frame, but she knew a fighter's stance when she saw it. Her sharp grey eyes took the boy in, he was in his mid-twenties, and she had never seen him before in her life. His reddish hair almost could have made him a Weasley, but she kept tabs on all her descendants even if they did not acknowledge her often. His jaw line was off anyway. There was no need to speculate; she knew exactly who this was.

"Alphard, what a pleasure."

He didn't enter her room, which was smart of him, really. If he had, he would not have been able to leave. She had discreetly put blood wards in place soon after her promotion, what the ministry didn't know wouldn't hurt them, but being unprepared for any situation could have resulted in her death. Lysandra was always well prepared. If she was right, this young man knew exactly what wards were on the door and exactly what they would do.

He grimaced slightly leaning a bit more against the door frame, but did not seem entirely unhappy at her assessment. Her sharp eyes didn't miss the movement, but she didn't comment. Not yet. The fact that he seemed he appreciated her intelligence was a pleasant discovery. She knew the feeling rather well. Dealing with idiots often put her in a bad mood.

"You have been having problems then."

He eyed her carefully before taking a deliberate step forward. Another step in and the wards around her room activated shielding them completely from the rest of the hospital. Lysandra's brow arched upwards. So he wanted privacy did he, more than an relatively easy escape? Well, she could accommodate as long as he gave her something in return for her hospitality.

"Blackouts." He supplied tersely after he glanced about the room. He was still edgy, which he had a right to be. He had just willingly stepped into _her_ space. It would cost him, and from his posture, he expected it too.

She nodded. "They are common after magical comas. Have you experienced any unusual fluctuations in your magic?" She asked leaning forward in her comfy chair, her wand still at a ready position.

His dull amber eyes casually noted her wary posture before putting his wand away completely. She found herself surprised and vaguely pleased at his gesture of trust, foolish though it might have been. She set her wand down as well willing to play along.

"A couple." He hedged, "I've been trying to keep my magic use to a minimum." He hesitated a moment. "The fluctuations are not as bad as they have been."

Her eyebrow rose even higher as her lips lifted upwards. "So you have experience with magical comas, then?"

"Twice before."

Her brows furrowed and she turned her attention to her desk, searching for quills and parchment. "How far apart were these other instances?" She shifted around a few stacks of parchment before finding a blank one and writing determinedly on it, listening carefully to her newest patient (it had been a very slow day in the UPW).

"Three years between the first two. Five between the last and this one."

She nodded, pleased. Making a few more notes on her sheet. "You are lucky they were not closer."

"Yeah, I've heard that before." The slightly wistful look on his face was not lost to her. Though she did reach back to her table a shuffle some more papers around, looking for blank forms.

In a cool, professional voice, she relayed her diagnostic. "You need to rest for at least forty eight hours then. We will check your core at that time. If the blackouts and fluctuations continue we will perform other tests. It is possible that you may have long term damage. Using your magic before I cleared you did not help your chances."

He shifted uncomfortably. He was fairly aware of the potential consequences of a magical coma; he did have Hermione rants after all (several of them were scolding his subconscious at the moment, actually), but he couldn't do the tests himself. For one, the diagnostic charms did not work very effectively when used on oneself, especially if you were suffering from potential spell damage. Second, he just didn't know the incantations well enough, not to mention the complicated wand movements. "I have no place to stay at the moment. My accounts will take time to access." Translation: no money and homeless. How low he had sunk. He hated charity.

"I assume you do not wish to stay in my ward either." She eyed him with a knowing expression.

"No, not really." Like he wanted to make it any easier for meddling ministry members or concerned citizens (read: Dumbledore) to check up and 'visit' him.

Lysandra nodded in agreement, returning some of the forms back to where they had been. She had expected his refusal. He did not appreciate pesky old men sticking their noses where they didn't belong any more than she did. And Lysandra was very aware that even she could not hold off interested parties for his expected forty eight hours of rest if he conceded to staying in the ward. Now out of the ward… well, that was an entirely different matter altogether.

Lysandra's paper shuffling moved her hand conveniently closer to her now partially hidden wand. "It is no matter." She began in a dismissive tone, waving her left hand and bringing Alphard's attention to her upper body. "I have not had guests in a long while."

The expression of surprise on Alphard's face gave Lysandra the opening she needed. A silent stunner erupted from her wand. She had to give the boy credit, his battle reflexes reacted even before his brain acknowledged the threat. Lysandra's follow up blasting hex met his shielding spell in a crackle of energy. Purely on the defensive, Alphard could not escape the low flying body bind heading for his knees as he shifted away from another, high power stunner. He cursed a second before it hit.

The boy froze in a half crouch caught a body-bind too powerful for him to just shrug off. His formerly unexpressive dull amber eyes seemed to light with rather large amount of anger (though who it was directed at was anybody's guess) and no small amount of annoyance. If Lysandra noticed, she made no comment. Instead, she stepped regally from behind her desk and moved near silently towards her prey. Her sharp eyes watching him warily the whole time. He had to have known this was coming.

"Surely you did not think I would take you on your word alone? No, I'm afraid you submitted yourself to my full mercy the moment you stepped inside my blood wards." A wicked smile graced her lips. "I was very surprised by your show of confidence in me. How very un-Slytherin of you."

As Lysandra watched, Alphard's magic seemed to shimmer around him in a nearly visible web. Surprised but concerned, she causally held her wand between his eyes. Her grip was firm; Alphard's magic dimmed considerably. "None of that now. You'll do your magic more harm than good." Grudgingly, Alphard conceded her point. He already felt a little woozy, not that he could move at all.

She nodded as she watched his aura disappear. After a few diagnostic charms, Lysandra turned back to her desk, ignoring the fuming wizard behind her. "Lissi!"

A small pop announced the house-elf's arrival. "Yes, Mistress Black nee Yaxley? What may Lissi be doing for her Mistress."

Lysandra reclaimed her seat and turned her attention back to her papers. "We will be having a guest at the manor tonight."

Lissi bounced on the balls of her feet. Obviously excited beyond belief at the thought of a guest, Lissi's wide eyes turned to the stunned (literally) boy. She did not appear concerned to see him half crouched in a very awkward position. Her cheerful face only brightened. "Yous be visitin' the Mistress?"

"Lissi," Lysandra looked up from an expense report to stare firmly at her house-elf.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"He will need to stay in the _special_ suite." Lysandra firmly emphasized.

Lissi rung her ears, horrified rounded eyes stared at Alphard. "Oh no's!" She cried as if he had disappointed her greatly. "Yous been a bad boy! Lissi will make sures yous don't escape! I's not let Mistress down. No's I won't…" Lissi marched determinedly towards the still petrified boy, still proclaiming her loyalty and devotion to her mistress and her disappointment in the, still, unknown (and unnamed) guest.

Lysandra smirked at her paperwork as the house-elf's cries of dismay ended in a tiny pop. When she looked up again, both were gone and her office clear. That had been far easier than she had expected. Pity he had underestimated her. Folly of youth indeed.

* * *

Why was Lysandra able to capture Alphard so quickly? Alphard is nearly magically exhausted, recovering from a serious magical coma and suffering from after affects of that coma including the odd inversions of gravity/ blackouts. He is no where near his real power. Lysandra understands that he is not at fully strength, but she has no idea exactly how powerful Alphard is, and Alphard is definitely not keen on having people know how powerful he is. Element of suprise; Constant Vengeance and all. Also, he did need Lysandra (for healing at least), so having her overpower him was a win win. I'm hoping people look underneath the underneath if you pardon my Naruto reference. There will be a lot of implied undertones which I hope you pick up on. If you ever want clarification, I will be glad to give them, but I hope you enjoy trying to find them as well.


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